Sheryl Crow Takes One For the Team (She Can Afford It)

MUSIC +++ FILM +++ SPORT +++ PHOTO +++ LINK +++ POORLY REASONED POLITICAL OPINION AND STUPID JOKE

MUS
Well, I'm going to rant about music, because I'm going to rant about politics, and we both need a warmup.

Sheryl Crow. What's the deal with this girl? First of all, everybody thinks she's hot, in that Alanis Morrisette, horsey-faced kind of way. Me, I shun the equine sort. Well and good. But her songs -- she's an excellent pop songwriter, as you've doubtless noticed. The first time I heard Soak Up the Sun was when it was being performed, beautifully, open-arm gestures and all, by a class of kindygarteners. I've seen worse renditions of Evita. I just figured the teacher had stumbled upon the perfect song for such a performance in her dusty tape collection.

But there's a limit. Now, there's nothing wrong with Sheryl -- although it's true inviting her over is tantamount to ponying up an extra forty bucks in oats, apples, sugar cubes, and the like -- it's just a "two types of people" thing.

(A) There are two types of people in this world: the type that groups everyone into two types of people, and the type that doesn't.

(B) There are two types of readers, listeners, and audiences: the type that enjoys sifting through veiled meanings and multi-layered image systems, and the type that prefers their entertainment on a single plane, a silver platter, breakfast in bed.

Now, I'm sure you can guess which type I am, but I have nothing against the latter group. They make up much of America's defining citzenry: televangelists and storm troopers, just to name two. And they dig your Sheryl Crows: quick and catchy; easy to follow, even sing along with; short enough for radio play but long enough to stimulate whatever button it is that they have and I don't, like a benevolent white-coated lab tech poking a happy rat's frontal lobe with the blunt end of his pencil.

On the other hand, you have, say, Pearl Jam -- whose equally catchy "Better Man" constituted their biggest hit since they Bronx cheered MTV and Ticketmaster. And yet, can you tell me what the song's about? Okay, a guy sneaks in late; the girl was going to confront him but doesn't. So? Confront him about what? "She dreams in red." So?

What about "Daughter?" For your money, is it "Young girl / violins," or, "Young girl / violence?"

It so happens the lyrics on that one can be found in the liner notes. And what do you know: both choices are listed. They're happy to say: You figure it out.

As for Sheryl Crow: love her, leave her, put her out to stud, she serves a legitimate purpose -- namely, to keep those KISS and STAR FM listeners away from Brian Adams long enough for us to vacate their airspace.

But if you want to really want to know the difference between people (A) and (B), give a listen to the other cuts on Pearl Jam's first several albums -- and then to Sheryl's tribute album covers of The Beatles' Mother Nature's Son (I Am Sam Soundtrack) and, especially, Led Zeppelin's D'yer Maker (Encomium.)

I recommend this especially if you've been defending modern artists when compared to, oh, Led Zeppelin, or the Beatles. She makes Robert Plant sound like Placido Polanco -- who's the second baseman for Philadelphia, but still a better reggae artist than Seabiscuit over there.

PS
For extra added bonus, I will do you the favor of saying, if palefaces' efforts at reggae intrigue you, UB40 not included, you must immediately sample the "Regatta de Blanc" stylings of the Police. We're talking whole albums, not Greatest Hits, though you'll find plenty of those. Start with Outlandos D'Amour. You will so thank me later.

Q: Did drummer Stuart Copeland accidently-on-purpose invent "jungle," and we only noticed twenty years later?

POL
Which brings us, my friend, to religion. Or politics. Which is now the same thing, thanks to only about forty-three fuckheads in Miami-Dade I've never met and who hopefully took well-earned vacations to Southeast Asia last month.

Or, let's make this a little sexier.

SEX
This is really about sex. Sex in a religipolitical context. But sex.

SEX, SEX, SEX.

Isn't this so much more fun than evolution?

For, just like those students forced to watch cowering teachers tapdance around "the 'E' word" in biology -- which must sound something like Jason Giambi's drawn-out, dramatic apology for "I-c-a-n-t-t-e-l-l-y-o-u-w-h-a-t" -- we've set anonther standard for spitting in the face of science, then grabbing its ass, then telling it it was someone else who grabbed its ass, then, when it's looking around to see who might have done it, grabbing its ass again.

We've got two facts at hand that seems to be at odds.

FACT A: Numerous studies have been done on the effect of abstinence education, and specifically whether it, without supplementary sex education, is enough to stem the decades-old problem of teen pregnancies and, for some of the studies, STD's. These studies invariably find that a strict diet of Just-Say-No diatribes goes as far toward preventing pregnancy as telling teens their strawberry Trojans should be used as chewing gum.

FACT B: President Bush -- who, say insiders, chews nothing but Durex Shiek Ribbed Spermicidal Chocolate-Banana -- is throatfucking us with another $130 million or so in spending on, you guessed it, abstinence education. $130 million that could be spent, I'd wager, on something else. Like me wagering. Which appears to be, literally, a far more sound financial investment.

Look, I'm all for teens not having sex; I was an avid practitioner myself for many years. And, in the absence of a hammer, I guess it doesn't hurt to try pounding that pesky nail with your soggy cigar. All I'm saying is, you should rethink your approach if there's also a chunky, grinning intern looking greedily at the same cigar, and strumming her cooch.

MR

QWTOFDY
"A single sentence will suffice for modern man: he fornicated and read the papers."
-Albert Camus